


Operation Unbroken Cutie

by RagnarokAscendant, WrittenEmber



Series: The Multiversal Travels of Glen Carviss [1]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Character Death Fix, Fix-It, Language Barrier, We will save Tuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 02:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11348076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RagnarokAscendant/pseuds/RagnarokAscendant, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrittenEmber/pseuds/WrittenEmber
Summary: Had this idea incubating since Chapter 14, but the latest update made it a necessity.We will not let Tuuri die. Not this time. Not with Azrael, Glen Carviss, whatever name he has, to fight instead.





	1. Divergence

The cracks widened as the troll underneath clawed at the floorboards again. Tuuri backed still further into the corner, trying to make herself small as Kisu hissed her displeasure.

Another crack, and a misshapen clawed hand punched through the oak, retreating only briefly. A faint noise escaped her mouth as she pulled Reynir closer.

And then there was light, shimmering rainbow light as a man-shaped shadow thumped to the floor. The figure turned, looking at them with burning red eyes, oblivious to the troll beneath it's feet.

 

Tuuri squeaked, and Reynir's mouth dropped open in shock. Before either of them could react, the troll  _ slammed _ into the floor from below, bursting through the floorboards in an explosion of splinters and nightmarish, flailing limbs. It's momentum carried it up,  _ up _ , until it towered over the red-eyed figure from behind. Too many limbs, too much spine, the head all mouth and teeth, and the hands all claws. Kisu hissed again and tensed herself to leap.

 

The figure spun, saying something garbled and guttural, and reeled back, bringing up a pistol. It barked twice, and the troll’s head exploded as the figure slumped against the wall of the tank, eyes still open. It looked at them, and croaked something unintelligible.

 

"Who is  _ that _ ?" asked Reynir, looking at her like she would somehow know. How could she possibly know? She shrugged.

 

She could see now that the stranger was wearing some kind of mask. One to hide their eyes as well as their mouth and nose. It was creepy-looking.

 

But the troll was dead, at least. Tuuri tried really hard not to look at the chunky red spatters all over the floor and one wall of the tank and even harder to avoid looking at the rest of it. Being headless didn't make the thing any less ugly.  _ Ew. _ She kept her eyes on the stranger instead.

 

"Um. Hello?"

 

The stranger looked at her, and cocked their head, obviously confused. After a moment, they got to their feet, pulling what looked like a very strange rifle from... _ somewhere _ ...under their long coat. They watched the hole the troll had made for a long moment, before crouching down next to the carcass and examining it.

 

The door opened, and Lalli appeared, looking as wide-eyed as Turri had ever seen him. He darted in, and then stopped dead, staring at the dead troll draped across half the floor and the masked stranger crouched beside it.

 

The stranger looked up at Lalli, and Lalli  _ hissed _ , face drawing back in a snarl. “Tuuri, get away from him, now!” he shouted as he brought his rifle to bear.

 

The stranger blurred into motion as Lalli's rifle cracked, knocking her cousin to the floor. They burbled something inquisitive as they knelt on his chest, pinning him down.

Lalli spat, but couldn't escape, even as his eyes glowed with what she knew was magic.

Eventually, the stranger let Lalli up, their own odd gun pointed at her cousin as they backed out of the tank.

  
They got as far as the door before Sigrun clubbed them in the back of the head.


	2. Explanations

Glen woke with a throbbing pain in the back of his head and a sour taste in his mouth.

And a painfully thin child staring at him. He moved slightly, and the kid’s glare intensified.

He sat up, noting that someone had tied his wrist to part of the bunk, an attempt at restraining him no doubt. They'd taken his knives too, but only the ones on his belt.

The kid said something in a completely unknown language. Whatever it was, it sounded threatening. He gave the kid another look as a tall redheaded woman walked in. She asked something that sounded similar, and the kid left.

“You do realize I can't understand a word you're saying, right?” he asked.

She gave him a look, then shrugged, and pointed at herself. “Sigrun.”

He returned the favor. “Glen.”

He indicated the rope tying his right hand to the bunk. “Mind letting me go?” he asked. “And maybe giving me my weapons back?”

At Sigrun's look of blank confusion, he sighed, and mimed a stabbing motion. “My weapons,” he repeated, pointing at the empty sheathes on his belt. “I'd like them back.”

She shook her head. Damn.

He glared at her, but she turned, calling out something.

What was a Mikkel? Or a Tuuri?

 

Oh. That's who they were. The short one looked similar to the boy, right down to the hair color. Sister? He gave them a look. “I don't suppose the two of you speak Standard either?” he asked plaintively.

 

Short and tubby looked confused, but the big guy frowned thoughtfully, before vanishing into the back of the vehicle, where he could make out what looked like crumbling stacks of books.

Was this a traveling library? Under attack by...flesh-monsters? That  _ thing _ he'd killed shouldn't have been physically possible.

Then again, magic wasn't physically possible, but he had a long history of burning planets and smashed armies to prove it existed anyway.

 

The big fellow brought out a particularly battered book, placing it in his lap. The cover, though faded almost to the point of illegibility, still bore the letters in Standard he needed- 'Danish-English dictionary’. 

It was very confusing to find English and Standard to be the same thing, but for once it worked. He pulled a sheet of paper and a pencil from under his coat, and began looking for the right translations.

It took several minutes, worsened by the fact he had to write with his left, and the redhead grew visibly impatient as he wrote. He handed the note to the big fellow.

 

That provoked what looked like an argument, with much arm-waving on Sigrun's part. He heard his name come up a few times. Finally, the big fellow motioned for the book. Glen handed it back to him, and the man spent several minutes transcribing something.

Achingly slowly, the process repeated itself, until he had an idea of what was going on.

Ninety years of a dead world. A beleaguered expedition. A horrendous virus that could bring death or worse if those monstrosities broke the skin.

Oh, and apparently their scout, the skinny child, thought he didn't have a soul. If anything, his problem was that he had  **[too much of one.]**

He paused at that last note, before nodding, and unzipping his vest. Another note was handed over, and the scout called in.

The boy's glare didn't waver as he looked him over, but his expression softened somewhat as he looked at Glen with eyes that seemed more like a cat's by the second. Slowly, he nodded, and spoke to the short and tubby one, who relayed what he said to the other two.

So he was just  _ compounding _ the language barrier. Joy.

At least now they didn't think him a soulless monster. Sometimes a magic-blocking armored vest was more trouble than it was worth...

 


	3. More fixing required

Sigrun found she didn't much like the new guy. Sure, he was a lot like Lalli, who  _ she  _ did like, but Lalli, though quiet, shy, and prickly, at least knew what he was doing. The new guy didn't. He was fast, but he wasn't immune, and he didn't seem to grasp the danger that put him in. At least he had a mask of his own...for all the good it did for a man who kept poking around.

What made it worse was that he didn’t speak a word of any language, not even Lalli and Tuuri’s Finnish. The closest he’d gotten was a guttural mess Mikkel and Tuuri said was probably some kind of ‘German’, whatever the Hel that was.

At least he had lots of guns. Well, sort of guns. They definitely didn’t fire bullets, unless he’d loaded the things with some sort of explosive tracer.

Not all that likely, actually. Tracers didn't turn trolls into burning meat in the same way whatever his guns shot did.

She grimaced as her arm twinged again. Mikkel was probably going to give her another lecture about the thing at some point, but she wasn't going to let it stay in the sling when it didn't hurt. That much.

Maybe if she went inside the tank, she could avoid a lecture for a bit longer.

Argh, but the new guy was still in there, with the other non-immune people…

Decisions, decisions.

Argh. She got into the tank and flopped down on the bed, ignoring the extremely creepy stare of the red lenses.

The new guy snarled something in his language, and she felt a finger poke her. She sat up irritably. “ _ What?” _

He pointed at her injured arm, then held up three fingers before making a clawing motion.

“No, it's not three days old,” she said, shaking her head. “What, do people heal that fast, spaceman?”

The man eyed her arm, before digging through that huge coat of his, pulling out a large case with a familiar red cross on it.

Bandages should not glow blue, but his did when he unrolled them. She paused, then rolled up her sleeve.

The moment the bandage touched her wounds, the pain vanished.

The man secured the sling, and growled something vaguely Mikkel-ish, pointing at the arm and holding up two fingers.

Two days? That was it?

Hah! That'd show the smug Dane!

Maybe the new guy wasn't so bad after all...


	4. Petals

 

The tank gave up eventually, even with Tuuri doing her best. The troll had simply done too much damage.

The troll…

He'd nearly failed. Would have, if not for the broken man. That galled him, but being angry at something so fractured and damaged seemed wrong.

Oh. They wanted him and Emil to go looking in the town nearby, for supplies. That should be easy.

The broken man growled something, and followed them. Sigrun reached out to stop it, but Mikkel shook his head. Emil watched the resulting argument, which annoyed him. They should be going, not wasting daylight standing around!

Finally Sigrun turned on the broken man, and pointed at it's mask, still on it's belt. The man nodded, and slipped it on, hiding it's weathered features behind whatever the kade-like mask was made of. Sigrun nodded, and put on the bossy expression that he recognized as her being concerned. He'd seen it on both her and Mikkel before. Usually just before Mikkel shoved a cookie in his mouth.

He liked cookies, but it was still annoying.

There wasn't much road left for the town, but it was plenty for them to follow. The broken man said nothing as he moved silently, strange weapon always in his hands.

The building they were scavenging from was large, the remnants of a glass ceiling scattered on the ground. Emil pointed out a flower, spared by some quiet act of the gods, growing under the protection of an intact chunk of the thick glass. Emil chattered in Swedish, pointing at it, practically shoving him forward.

The broken man nodded as he passed it. It would watch, and watch well.

Maybe he could take the time to look after all. It was somewhat pretty, after all.

The glass tottered, but Lalli was faster than it, and the small flower was rescued, roots and all. Emil found a pot for it, smiling all the way back.

Somehow, he thought the broken man was smiling too.


End file.
